


Persona 5 Oneshots

by WinterWyvern27



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akechi isn’t dead but still a bit of a douchebag, Akira being gay, Basically Persona 5 oneshots, Morgana is done with your shit, Multi, Phantom Thieves - Freeform, They will all have opportunities with eachother don’t worry, futaba being an asexual wingman, persona 5 - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-13 22:44:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18040508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterWyvern27/pseuds/WinterWyvern27
Summary: Just some P5 oneshots. I have not included all ships but they’re going to be in there.There will be AUs. There will be Fluff. There will be Angst. But no smut. Maybe making out, but no smut.Spoilers will be alerted in the notes





	1. Coffee For Two (Haru Okumura/Makoto Niijima)

**Author's Note:**

> Spoiler Free! This is a fluffy oneshots with the motorcycle bisexual and the princess lesbian.

“Mako-chan, I need your help, if you would be so kind.”

Haru smiled sweetly, holding a paper bag. Makoto looked up from her book, brows knitted together.

“Of course, what do you need?”

She brushed her hair behind her ear after she placed her book down. Haru grinned, her cheeks faintly pink.

“I require a lift, if you wouldn’t mind. I must drop these off at Leblanc.”

Makoto smiled, nodding.

“Not at all. Let’s go.”

After rummaging through the storage unit on her motorbike, Makoto produced a helmet and handed it to Haru, fingertips brushing her manicured hands. As she slid her own helmet over her head, straddling the motorbike, Makoto watched as Haru put the helmet on and mounted the bike, her arms snaking around Makoto’s waist. Makoto thanked whatever god it was that helped Makoto hide her flushed cheeks and red ears with a motorbike helmet and turned on the engine.

“Ready?”

Haru hummed an affirmation and Makoto started the engine, slowly making her way down to the motorway.

Haru felt the light breeze of the summer night brush against her bared shoulders, pushing away the light cardigan and blowing Makoto’s perfume into the wind. Haru inched her body closer to Makoto’s back, her ears burning with heat. Makoto’s breath hitched as Haru snuggled even closer to hers. She hoped that this wasn’t just platonic nuzzling into her spine and that Haru was also interested in her romantically.

‘ _But she isn’t. She never will be, you’re imagining things.’_

The motorcycle purred to a halt, slowly making its way through the empty backstreets of Yongen-Jaya until they found the dusty red awning of Leblanc. Makoto switched the ignition off and took off her helmet. In her peripheral vision, she saw Haru shake her fluffy hair out and smooth it down.

She averted her eyes and cleared her throat, swinging her leg over the motorbike and offering a hand to Haru, who gladly obliged, her hand still intertwined with Makoto’s long after she got off of the motorbike. The pair made their way to Leblanc’s doorway, both giddy at the other’s hand in their own until Haru stopped, letting go of Makoto’s hand, a bashful red blush spreading across her face.

“M-Makoto-Chan, I-I haven’t been entirely truthful w-with you...”

Haru opened the paper bag she had carried with her. Inside the bag, a small bouquet of tiny flowers was sitting in a clear plastic wrapping, a small note attached with a light purple ribbon. Makoto’s mind was racing. The note had her name on it in Haru’s beautiful cursive. She looked up from the bag to see Haru’s red face and averted eyes and knew immediately that it wasn’t a practical joke.

Jokes like this had been played on Makoto, boys coming up to her only to see her fall for the trick, girls giggling behind them. Sae had comforted her later, holding her tightly as they watched bad romantic comedies on the television. When her first boyfriend came around to her house after she confessed to him, Sae grilled him and when they eventually called it off, it was back to tubs of ice cream on the sofa. Makoto had never been on the receiving end of a confession, let alone one as sweet as this.

Haru looked like she was about to cry when Makoto opened her mouth to say something. Her hair was slightly wafting in the light breeze, her violet eyes shining.

Haru had been rejected many times, mostly because of her crushes’ sexualities. Haru herself was not heterosexual. At all. But her crushes were. In middle school, Haru had confessed to her best friend of four years, only to be rejected and then mercilessly bullied. Then, later on at Sujin, Haru had a girlfriend who had then turned out to be straight and was testing the spectrum. They still remained good friends but Haru lost a chunk of her heart. She wasn’t used to being accepted unconditionally, so when Makoto brought Haru’s hand to her lips, murmuring a “Thank God you felt it too.”, she smiled so hard her back teeth ached.

Makoto placed the flowers in the compartment of her motorbike and took Haru’s hand in her own, leading her through the doorway of Leblanc. Sojiro looked up from his crossword and called Akira down from the attic room.

“Well, good evening ladies. How can I help?”

Makoto smiled, looking at Haru like she was an angel. To Makoto, she was.

“Coffee for two, please.”


	2. Swing Set (Mishima Yuuki/Kurusu Akira)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two dorks being cute and fluffy.  
> This chapter mentions sex but that’s pretty much about it.

Yuuki knew he shouldn’t have come to the party the second he walked through the door. It was an open invitation party, invites posted on every locker on the college campus; an excuse to put the liquor cabinets to ‘good use’ while some guy had a huge house to himself for the weekend. Yuuki was unimpressed at the number of drunk girls singing along to Whitney Houston and dancing on tables. He looked at the unknown alcohol in his paper cup, nose wrinkling at the residue in the bottom. Over all of the general chaos, he noticed a familiar face in the crowd. Akira Kurusu was standing out from the crowd for three reasons:

A) He had a bright red Hawaiian print shirt (from the school trip, Yuuki assumed).

B) He was being cheered on as he drank another kid under the table

C) Akira was drop-dead gorgeous.

Yuuki slowly made his way to the table where Akira was throwing back shots like there was no tomorrow. He could smell the whiskey from the next room. The kid on the other side of the table slowly slumped down under the table. The black-haired teen howled triumphantly, suddenly on the table. Akira was incredibly drunk, but he didn’t seem like the type to pass out until he collapsed from alcohol poisoning. His red shirt slipped from one shoulder, bunching around his elbow and exposing more of his white tee.

However, drunk guys can’t walk right let alone balance on a wonky table so when Akira fell, Yuuki had almost expected it and suddenly Akira was slumped against him.

“Okay, Kurusu-kun, let’s get you some fresh air.” Yuuki murmured, placing his friend’s arm over his shoulder as they shuffled to the back door. He did his best to forget he was holding the object of his endless pining. There was a tree swing in the back yard which looked like a good place to put the drunk boy in his arms for the time being. Akira was laughing softly, face ruddy from the whiskey shots. As he slumped onto one of the swings, he looked up at Yuuki.

“Ah, Mishima. I was wondering when you would show up.” Yuuki smiled, chest hammering.

“O-Oh, really?” He stuttered, biting his tongue. Akira laughed again, smiling sweetly.

“Yeah. I was waiting for you.” At this point, he tried to sit back, only to realize that this was a swing and not a dining chair. Yuuki grabbed him, pulling him back up and sitting on the swing next to him.

“Hey, Mishima?” Akira had stopped laughing, now seemingly serious.

“Can I call you Yuuki?” Yuuki froze; hearing his name in Akira’s voice felt so foreign, but somehow right.

“I-I, um, yeah.” He said, with the eloquence of a socially inept teenager. Akira chuckled, shifting his weight on the swing so he was almost facing Yuuki. He could still hear the loudspeakers from the swing set but it slowly turned into white noise as he and the drunk teen sat together, silent. It was slightly awkward.

“Yuuki, why are you out here? With me?” Akira said softly, staring at the blue-haired boy. Yuuki’s breath hitched. The ‘with me’ had gotten him flustered, setting off butterflies in his stomach.

“O-Oh, um, b-because I... enjoy your company. Also, s-someone’s gotta look out f-for you...”

Yuuki felt heat creep up his neck, invading his cheeks. Akira cocked his head to the side like a curious bird.

“You... enjoy my company?” The blue-haired boy felt his heart sliding up and down in his chest. Akira reached out to Yuuki, placing a hand on his forehead.

“You’re all red. Do you have a fever?”

He flinched, fingers trembling. Akira laughed softly.

“You’re too cute.”

Yuuki felt himself fall apart. Dammit, this was too much. His inner screaming felt so loud to him, he was worried that the dark-haired teen would hear it. Akira’s hand traveled down to his cheek, thumb millimeters away from his lips. Yuuki thought he was going to die.

Without any warning, Akira fell, bringing Yuuki down with him. In a tangle of limbs, Yuuki somehow ended up on top of Akira. Instantaneously, he scrambled to get off of the taller boy, only to fall back onto his butt. Akira rolled over to face Yuuki, laughing. Yet again, his hand found Yuuki’s cheek, fingers burying themselves in his hair near the nape of his neck. Suddenly, his lips crashed onto his, their teeth clashing together.

The kiss tasted of smokey whiskey, short and slightly sloppy. After they pulled apart, Akira stared at Yuuki.

“I... Sorry.” The dark-haired boy looked away, face flushed. Yuuki blinked, ears burning.

“W-What for?” He, too, looked away bashfully, whispering

“I... I-I liked it.”

Akira, strangely perceptive for someone so hammered, looked up at Yuuki, propping himself up on one elbow. He gave Yuuki a devilishly charming smirk, fingertips brushing the underside of his jaw.

“Then can I do it again?” Yuuki felt a shiver run down his spine.

“Y-Yes.”

 

Akira woke up with a massive hangover. He blinked once, twice and realized that this was not his room. Akira was in his boxers and out of his peripheral vision, he saw where the rest of his clothes were. He looked around, realizing he was not alone. A dark blue-haired boy slept next to him. He looked down at Mishima, putting two and two together. He staggered his way into an ensuite bathroom. He splashed water into his face, smoothing his hair back from his face. A few bruises adorned his torso, confirming what he thought had happened. He smiled to himself, face heating up.

He had done it.

He had finally confessed to Yuuki.

Thank you, alcohol. He quietly made his way back to Yuuki’s futon, slipping delicately back under the sheets. He curled himself around the blue-haired boy’s slender form, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. Yuuki stirred slightly, waking up groggily. His dark eyes met Akira’s, widening as he came to remember what happened the previous night.

“A-Akira! I-“ Yuuki’s face went beet red, hands moving to cover his face. Akira chuckled, taking Yuuki’s hand and looking him in the eye. Yuuki gave a small smile, chuckling softly.

“So, how did we get here?” Akira asked.

Yuuki recalled a car, shuffling up the stairs to his apartment and, at some point, Akira’s white tee coming off and Yuuki’s jeans long gone. After a moment of silence, the pair started to laugh. It was almost perfect; the hangover was pretty damn awful. Akira traced Yuuki’s collarbone with his fingers, feeling a slight shudder at his light touch.

For the umpteenth time in the last 24 hours, the space between the pair closed, syncing with each other’s movements.

Akira could afford to kill some time today.


	3. Countdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's New Year's Eve in Leblanc and the gang has it all to themselves.

The year is coming to a close.

There are fireworks, disco balls, glitter bombs, and wild parties, but nothing compares to the quiet celebration happening in a small cafe in the backstreets of Yongen Jaya.

Ryuji grins at his companions, blissfully unaware of anything else that could be possibly happening outside of the small cafe. The boy dancing on the bar surface sends a subtle wink in his direction. Ryuji laughs, knowing he does this to everyone. He thinks.

Yes, he's sure.

Ryuji is nothing special compared to the boy in the glasses, just a good friend. He sees a pale hand breach his melancholy thoughts, slender fingers extended as to pull him up onto the smooth mahogany surface of the bar.

"Akira, Boss is gonna kill you," Ryuji warns, daring to look into those gunmetal eyes. Akira only laughs, pulling him up. The music blasting from Futaba's speakers is upbeat and truly ordinary, save for the occasional Rickroll. Ann giggles, blue eyes twinkling as she eggs on the pair.

"Oh shush, Ryuji. He said it was New Year's Eve and that we had the place to ourselves." She laughs, staring at the pair on the bar. Akira gives him that look again. The one where his eyes bore right into his own and the corners of his mouth pull into a nocuous smile. Ryuji shrugs.

To hell with it.

It's New Year's Eve.

Akira twirls him around, taking his hand delicately. Ryuji is laughing, unacquainted with the outside world, lost in Akira's slate eyes. God, he's fallen so hard.

He first realized it when Akira had calmly placed a hand on his shoulder when he was arguing with the track team. He had given them a vacuous stare, honeyed words splintering their tough outer shell, giving them a final warning before they turned on their heels and sprinted away, putting their skills to good use.

He'd also distinguished it when Akira had run along with him on his 800m laps around the school: he had seen the glasses come off and the hair swept back, face flushed and skin hot. He couldn't help himself from staring at Akira and the afterglow that seemed to radiate off of him after a run. He was a teenager, after all.

Ryuji stares at Akira as the scoundrel dips him, holding his hand tight. He playfully hits him as he regains balance, his hand still in Akira's. He glances at the television, seeing that the countdown starts soon. He turns back and howls at the moon from inside Leblanc. Ann laughs, Haru smiles, Futaba films. He flashes a smile at his companions, about to start counting down from 10.

Then the lights shut off.

There is screaming.

There is rushing.

There is a flick of static, and the television's speakers waver to life.

**10**.

Ryuji feels Akira's hand squeeze his.

**9**.

The volume flickers, static undertones interrupting the festivities.

**8**.

Akira steps closer, and Ryuji can see his glasses glinting in the dark.

**7**.

The dark-haired boy looks him dead in the eyes, warning him.

**6**.

Ryuji can feel his heart flutter in his chest.

**5**.

The scurrying stopped a while ago; everyone accepts the dark.

**4**.

Akira leans in closer, and Ryuji can smell coffee, linen, and spices.

**3**.

"Tell me yes or no." Gunmetal eyes pushing him for an answer.

**2**.

A hand cups Ryuji's face.

**1**.

"Yes."

**0**.

His lips are soft and gentle, but he has experience. Ryuji feels himself sway at the knees, holding on to Akira's slender form. Somehow, his slender fingers find Ryuji's hair, tangling themselves in it. And just like that, the kiss was over.

The lights turn back on. 20XX was over.

And Ryuji would never forget it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BONUS:  
> Futaba grins, her headphones shifting around her neck. This was totally worth her time; she got at least four people to kiss and some great blackmail footage of Ryuji being a furry.   
> 20XX was a year to remember.


End file.
